


And Now You Know Me

by Myrtle



Category: BoJack Horseman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5472065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrtle/pseuds/Myrtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, that's the problem with life, right? Either you know what you want and then you don't get what you want, or you get what you want and then you don't know what you want.</p><p>Charlotte and Bojack, two ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Now You Know Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Domingo Ocelot (docelot)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/docelot/gifts).



_Well, that's the problem with life, right? Either you know what you want and then you don't get what you want, or you get what you want and then you don't know what you want._

-Diane, "Later"

 

* * *

 

June 1985 - A

 

The bus depot is filthy, there are drool stains on her dress from the guy who was snoring on her shoulder for most of the ride, and one wheel on her suitcase is broken so she has to sort of half-push/half-drag it and definitely couldn’t outrun any bums who might try to attack her, but Charlotte doesn’t care. Her high school diploma is tucked in her suitcase, she’s finally an adult, and she’s _here._ Los Angeles. The City of Angels, and fame and fortune. And no school, no parents, no neighbors who know all your business.

She steps outside and takes her first breath of LA air. It’s hot and smoggy, nothing like the pure mountain air of Tahoe. But that’s good, she thinks. That’s the air of civilization, of culture and excitement.

She sticks her hand out and waits for a taxi to whisk her away into her new life. It won’t be long til she’s a famous actress. Maybe. Or a model, or painter, or something. It doesn’t matter. What matters is, she’ll be _free._

 

* * *

 

June 1985 - B

 

Before getting a cab, Charlotte decides she needs a coffee. In struggling with her suitcase, she manages to drop the coffee and spill it all over the counter. The cashier, a rather cute, tall young horse, starts mopping it up right away. 

“Oh God, I’m so sorry, uh, Bojack,” she says, glancing at his name tag. “I just got off the bus from Tahoe, it was a rough ride, I’m just a mess.”

The cashier smiles at her. “Hey, no worries. Tahoe, huh? That sounds a lot nicer than this dump. What are you doing here?”

 

* * *

 

August 1985 - A

 

10 PM and the Laugh Shack is just starting to heat up – she kind of hates working Saturdays. The tips are good, though, especially if you can get in with the newbies who overdid it on the liquid courage. She’s almost gotten used to the guys checking her out as they order – if that’s what they want for a good tip, fine. But when she spots Herb at the end of the bar by himself, she’s quick to go say hi. She likes Herb; he may be the only regular who doesn’t make her feel like a piece of venison.

“Good set tonight. That new Reagan stuff is gold,” she says, putting a beer in front of him.

Herb looks up and smiles at her. “Thanks, sugar. Now I just need someone outside of this place to agree.”

“Oh, they will. I just hope you’ll still remember us poor little waitresses when you’re rich and famous.”

Herb laughs, and she’d never admit it but she feels a little glow inside when he does. _She’s making a_ comedian _laugh!_ He holds her gaze as she leans on the bar across from him. “You know what would help me remember you?” he says. “Seeing you outside of this place. I was thinking about going to check out the competition at the Comedy Store tomorrow night. You want to come along as my civilian critic? Grab dinner beforehand? Someplace nice, my treat.”

Does he mean a date? She’s pretty sure he means a date. She grins. Herb is pretty cute, and the more she chats with him the more she likes him. “Why, Mr. Kazzaz. I thought you’d never ask.”

 

* * *

 

September 1985 - A

 

“Did you catch that horse kid’s set?” Herb asks as he’s driving Charlotte home. “Pretty sharp, eh?” 

“What, you mean the guy you heckled the whole time? You thought he was _good?”_ She’s confused. All she remembers is the horse guy asking over and over if the audience got his jokes. Even she knows not to do that.

“Sure. Green, yes, and nervous as hell. But he’s got something. I can tell.” 

“Huh. I have to ask, if you liked him so much, why were you so mean to him?” 

Herb chuckles. “Oh, that’s just show biz, Char. You gotta rib the new kids. Keep ‘em in their place. But if they can survive that, they might have a chance of making it in this business.” 

“Oh, how kind of you to bless him with your infinite wisdom.” 

Herb doesn’t catch her sarcasm. “You know me, always looking out for the little guy. Maybe I’ll take Bojack under my wing. Oh, and remind me to introduce you if he’s back tomorrow. I think you’d really like him.”

 

* * *

 

October 1985 - B

 

“Slow night, huh? I’m taking a ten,” she tells Harry, dropping her tray on the counter. 

“Sure thing,” he replies, and she heads for the back door. The Laugh Shack is dark and smoky this time of night, and all she wants on her break is the relative fresh air of the alley behind the bar.

But that isn’t what she finds, because as soon as she opens the door she’s hit by the smell of cigarette smoke, courtesy of one Bojack Horseman.

For a moment he doesn’t notice her, and she just watches him, leaning against the wall, jiggling his leg, watching the cigarette between his fingers burn. 

Then he feels her eyes on him and looks up. He seems startled, quickly takes a drag, and smiles at her.

She feels weird catching him in a private moment, so she says, “Sorry—didn’t mean to barge in. Er, out.”

“No, it’s fine,” he says. “Glad to have you. I’m trying to calm my nerves before I go on, you know? But it’s probably better to have company. Get out of my head.”

She lets the door swing shut behind her and leans against the wall next to him. They watch trash skittering along in the breeze in the alley.

“So,” she says. “You won’t touch a drink, but you smoke? Seems odd.”

He shrugs. “I started, uh…young. I’m just used to it now. And it does help with nerves.”

“Those things’ll kill ya, you know,” she says, teasing.

“You know what really kills you? _Life._ What’s the point trying to be healthy, everybody’s dying anyway."

She’s quiet for a moment. _“Wow.”_

Bojack laughs and ducks his head. “Sorry. Quoting my mom, she—whatever. Sorry. Oh, I’m being rude, you want one?” He holds out the open pack toward her.

She freezes. _This is LA,_ she thinks. _I’m hanging out with a comedian behind the bar where I work, next to a strip club. Of_ course _I smoke._ She reaches out and takes one. Bojack lights it and she brings it to her lips, tentatively inhaling. She starts coughing immediately.

Bojacks laughs, and she glares at him reproachfully between coughs. “Sorry,” he says. “I don’t mean to laugh at you. It’s—cute.”

Embarrassed as she is, she feels her ears perk up at that. “Yeah?”

Now he’s the one who looks embarrassed. “Um, yeah. Here, let me show you.”

He takes the cigarette from her and goes to put it back in her mouth, but she’s not interested in that anymore. She follows his hand with hers and catches it. She gently takes the cigarette, throws it on the ground, and stamps it out. _At least I know how to do that right._ She keeps holding his hand, and he looks at her, ears twitching. She waits and waits, and eventually it gets so awkward she starts laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Bojack asks, looking bewildered. “I don’t get it!”

“Oh my god, Bojack.” she says. “If you’ve been wanting to kiss me as much as I think, now’s your chance.”

He looks astonished. “ _Oh!_ Oh. Well…um…”

And finally, he leans in and kisses her. He sort of whinnies under his breath and it’s just about the cutest thing she’s ever seen. She doesn’t even mind that he tastes like cigarettes.

She thinks she could keep doing this forever, but eventually, she pulls away. “I really should get back to work.”

Of course Bojack gets flustered again. “Oh yeah, of course…and I should go get ready for my set, you know…so…”

Neither of them move, though. Bojack takes a deep breath. “But, um…would you like to go out after work? Uh, or tomorrow, if you’re too tired.”

She smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d really like that.”

 

* * *

 

December 1985 - A

 

“Merry Christmas, _assholes!”_ Herb shouts as the balloons drift away over Studio City. From their perch on Fryman Canyon, the glowing balloons look like ornaments over the fairy lights of the city. Charlotte watches the thousands of little lights moving along the streets and wonders who all these people are, out driving around on Christmas Eve. 

“Assholes, assholes, assholes…” Bojack sing-songs from his place on the grass. He giggles. “Sorry, guys. I had a beer!” 

Charlotte laughs and lies down next to him. “Whoa, slow down, party animal.” She sighs. “Those assholes do look nice from up here, though. I guess that’s LA for you. Prettier from far away.”

“And prettier with balloons and glosticks,” Herb adds, lying down on her other side. “Which some bird will probably choke on and die.”

Charlotte rolls her eyes. “Alright, Mister Cynical. Can’t you just enjoy this?” She punches him lightly in the shoulder. Herb smiles at her and reaches out and strokes her ears. She snuggles into him, but he stiffens suddenly when she gets close. She manages to stop herself from sighing out loud, this time, and scooches back away from him so she’s equidistant between the boys.

There’s something weird in the air between her and Herb now, and she isn’t surprised when he breaks the silence.

“This must be the weirdest Christmas Eve happening in LA right now,” Herb says. “Everyone else is all cozy with their families…”

“Family. Who needs ‘em?” Bojack says with force. Herb grunts in affirmation. Though they never talk about it, it’s understood that it isn’t just distance keeping the three of them from seeing their families.

“I think I’ve got my family. Right here,” Charlotte says, then immediately giggles self-consciously. “Sorry guys, that was a lot. I guess the beer’s hitting me too." 

(She doesn’t know why she feels like she has to apologize for expressing a genuine emotion to these guys. But she does.)

Everyone is quiet for a while, and maybe that’s their way of agreeing with what she said. Then Bojack sighs. “Can we just freeze time, guys? And stay right here forever?”

Herb shakes his head. “Nope. Everything changes, BJ. You gotta keep up. Keep moving.”

Charlotte thinks, _Do you?_

 

* * *

 

April 1986 - A

 

As Charlotte waits for Herb to get home, she knows what she has to do. _However his meeting went, it doesn’t matter._ And yet, she can’t help herself from hugging him when he comes in clearly elated. 

“It’s all happening, babe,” he tells her. “This is just the beginning, I can feel it. I’m gonna pitch them my show.” 

Charlotte is surprised. “Already? You think they’ll bite?” 

“Why wouldn’t they? The idea is gold. Put some cute kids on TV and people will eat it up. We’ll be the next Brady Bunch. Plus, I’ll make sure Bojack’s attached to it. He’s my ace in the hole. I’m telling you, that kid has _got it._ His set on Wednesday? I thought I’d piss my pants.” 

 _Yep, there it is. Bojack, Bojack, Bojack._ She says nothing, but Herb doesn’t notice. 

“Yeah, we’re gonna go all the way,” he rambles on. “I wonder if I can get them to film in New York. With all the theater people there you’ve got access to the really top-notch talent. Don’t worry, you’ll like New York, it’s--” 

 _“What?”_ she interrupts, shocked. “What, I’ll just…pack up my whole life and move across the country with you?” 

He looks confused. “Well…yeah. I mean, why wouldn’t you? You’re my girl.” 

She sighs. “Am I, though?” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“If I’m your girl, shouldn’t you show some sign of actually being attracted to me?” _Fuck. I can’t believe I said that._ But maybe she doesn’t regret it. Maybe they should talk about this. 

Herb’s face goes blank. “Of course I’m attracted to you. You know that.” 

“Yeah?” She crosses to him, and she can’t help it, she has to try again. She puts her hands on his shoulders. “When’s the last time we slept together?” 

He pulls in closer to her, but the moment their chests touch, there it is—he stops and shies away, almost imperceptible. She lets him go. 

“Well-…we’re both busy. You’re always tired after work,” he says. “And I don’t want to push you, you’re still young…” 

“So I’m old enough to follow you to New York, but I’m not old enough to fuck? Come on. We both know that’s not the reason.” _Shit, I guess we’re_ really _getting into it now._  

He turns away from her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

She doesn’t know how far to push it, but she thinks there must be a way to get through. She isn’t even mad, really. She just wants some honesty between them. “You do, Herb. I…I’m not stupid, you know. Maybe I should have said something a long time ago. It’s been pretty obvious for a while….but that doesn’t matter. The point is, we should stop pretending. _You_ should stop pretending.” 

He faces her again, arms crossed, face a mask. 

“It’s okay, Herb. Things are changing. You’ll be okay. You’re brilliant and funny, and you can figure it out. Just— just be honest.” 

“Charlotte,” he says, and there’s a hint of desperation in his voice that makes her want to cry. “I have _no idea_ what you’re talking about.” 

She sighs. “Okay, Herb. But tell me when you…when you’re ready.” _This is it. You might as well tell him now._ She takes a moment to steel herself. “In the meantime, I think I need to leave town.” 

That, he reacts to. “What? You mean go on a trip? Things will probably get busy with ABC soon, but we should be able to squeeze something in…Vegas, maybe?” 

“No, not _we._ Me. And not a trip. I need to move.”

Finally, he comes over to her and embraces her from behind. “Char, what is this about? I’m sorry if I made an assumption before about you wanting to come to New York with me. But that’s no reason to do something rash.” 

“No, it has nothing to do with that, Herb. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. This isn’t for me.” 

“I thought you wanted excitement. LA. Freedom.” 

“I did. But now that I have it…I don’t know. I mean, waitressing? Sometimes I feel like I might as well be working at the strip joint next door, the way people look at you. And the city is…it’s everything I thought I wanted, but I didn’t realize…people don’t _look_ at each other here, you know? And I feel like I’m becoming like that, I’m turning into one of them the longer I stay here. It’s like you said. You have to keep moving forward." 

She turns around, puts her hands on the back of his neck, locks eyes with him. “Herb. Please don’t make this difficult. I’m going to leave either way, but I’m not trying to hurt you. Actually, I think it’ll be good for you. _Please.”_

He looks at her, and though she can tell he’s not close to really being honest yet, something in his face softens, and maybe he gets it on some level. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.” 

She smiles, hugs him, kisses him on the cheek. “Thanks. I will really miss you, you know.” Then she remembers: “Oh, crap. I have to figure out how to tell Bojack.”

 

* * *

 

June 1986 - A

 

She gets a job at a day camp, teaching kids to make jewelry. It’s everything LA isn’t: damp and cold at night, and quiet and beautiful and boring. She sends the guys postcards, separately because she has different things to say to each of them:

 

Bojack-

Greetings from cloudy Maine! I hope you’re doing ok. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do (besides become a famous movie star, of course). 

XO,

Charlotte.

 

Herb-

How’s things? Maine is quiet and lovely. You would hate it. Show those ABC turkeys what you’re made of. And make sure BJ keeps his head out of his ass, yeah? Pun intended.

Love, (because she does, still, in a way)

C

Herb writes back, telling her all the details of the show. He makes it all sound so glamorous, and exhausting. Bojack never writes back. Too busy, she supposes. After three unanswered postcards, she stops trying. 

At the end of the summer, she’s sick of the locals ribbing her about how a California fawn will never survive a Maine winter, so she cashes her last paycheck, goes to the airport, asks for the cheapest ticket to some place warm, and finds herself in Santa Fe. She doesn’t bother giving Bojack her new address.

 

* * *

 

March 1991 - A

 

Herb-

“Do the Bojack,” huh? Let me guess, that was your brainchild. Thanks for getting that stuck in my head nonstop. And inflicting Bojack’s dancing on the world.

Anyway, I got a new job. One of those stores that sells lots of touristy leather and teal crap – they’re a dime a dozen down here, but. I like it.

Keep out of trouble.

Love,

Charlotte

 

 

Char-

Yep, guilty as charged. I know, I’m a national hero. I’ve figured out that if you can tell Bojack exactly what to do, wind him up, and let him go, he’s still moderately useful, as long as he isn’t trashed. So a song with instructions is perfect, really.

Sounds nice. I guess being from Tahoe, touristy crap is right in your wheelhouse.

….Kidding.

Miss you. You should come visit some time.

Love,

Herb

 

* * *

 

January 1992 - A

 

Char- 

Guess you heard about Horseman’s incident at the Globes. Why I thought it was a good idea to work with that ass I’ll never know. At least McCartney’s not suing – he’s got enough dough already, I guess. 

How’s the store? You running the place yet? 

Love,

H

 

* * *

 

September 1993 - A

 

She turns off the news, sick to her stomach. Fired. Publicly shamed. Arrested, for God’s sake. _He deserves better._ And where was Bojack in all this? There was no statement from him, no nothing. _He could have done something._

The phone rings, and the caller ID reads _Kazzaz, H._ She’s shocked for a moment—what can she even say to him?—then picks up. 

“Herb. I’m so sorry…I’m so, so sorry.” 

“For what, spilling your soda on me during our first date? Or do you mean you’ve seen the news?” 

It isn’t that funny, but she laughs anyway. 

Herb sighs. “Thanks, hon. Turns out you were right, all those years ago. Obviously…well, of course you were. I should have listened to you. Not that I know what difference it would have made.” 

“What are you going to do?” 

“I don’t know. I’ll figure something out. I guess I’ve still got some friends in this town, though really who knows? That’s another thing you were right about – everyone’s your friend in LA, until they’re not. That’s why I called you, I had to talk to someone who’s outside of it all. You wouldn’t believe some of the people who’ve turned on me.” 

“Including Bojack?” she asks gently. 

“God, yes, Horseman, that _fucker,”_ he says with feeling. “Do you know what he told me? _I’ve got your back._ That lasted about thirty seconds, and then as soon as Diaz talked to him, not another word, and that was it for me. Unbelievable. Actually, it’s completely believable. I should have known. Thinks he’s hot shit because he gets laughs for stuff _I_ write. He’s always been a self-centered little prick.” 

That’s not how Charlotte remembers him, but then, she hasn’t talked to Bojack in seven years, so who knows.

 

* * *

 

September 1993 - B

 

Reading the same paragraph in her stats textbook for the fifth time, Charlotte finally realizes there’s no point in trying to study right now. Between Herb’s pacing and occasional interjections, and her own mind going a mile a minute, she just can’t focus.

“Brace yourself for disappointment,” Herb is saying. “Well, I guess you won’t have to be disappointed. He’ll probably be fine. It’s me who’ll be out in the cold—”

“He’s not going to disappoint you, Herb,” she replies, again. “Bojack’s a good guy.”

“He’s an actor. You know who they’re all looking out for? Numero uno. Not that I can blame him--”

He’s interrupted by the door opening. Bojack comes in and just stands there, looking at them. She can’t read his face.

“Well?” Herb asks.

“Say hello to Hollywood’s newest unattached talent.” His voice is flat. He seems to be in something of a daze.

Charlotte runs to him and embraces him. “Oh my _God,_ Bo, you left?”

“Well, not voluntarily, exactly. Diaz threw everything she had at me, and I said, if he goes, I go, and so now we’re both going. You’re welcome, buddy,” he adds pointedly to Herb.

Charlotte steps back and Herb starts shaking Bojack’s hand forcefully. “God, BJ, I gotta say, I didn’t know what to expect. I’m glad you tried, though. Thank you. I owe you.”

Bojack shrugs. “Let’s call it even. It was really Charlotte who talked me into it.” He laughs. “You should have seen Diaz’s face. I don’t think anyone’s ever surprised her like that before. Bitch.”

It’s then that Charlotte notices his breath. _Of course._ “Have you been drinking?”

“So I stopped for a drink after the meeting. And had one on the drive home,” Bojack says, pulling a beer out of the fridge. “And am having one now. I’m unemployed, I’m gonna need it.”

“What you’re gonna need,” Herb says, back to pacing, “is to stay focused. We have to strike while the iron is hot. I think we should be announcing our next project within weeks.”

“Our next project?” Bojack says, looking up. Charlotte is also surprised that Herb apparently wants to work with Bojack again immediately, seeing as he was badmouthing him not five minutes ago. Then she realizes: _He doesn’t know who else he_ can _work with._

“Sure. We’ve gotta stick together now, BJ. You’d be amazed how fast this town will turn on you.”

Charlotte realizes he’s right. “And you’re part of it now, Bojack. We’re all in the same boat. You really should start working on something again soon. We can’t live off my student loans forever.” _Since you’ve spent practically all of your very generous salary,_ she doesn’t add.  

Bojack leans against the fridge, looking like an earthquake just hit him.

“It might look good to do something more serious,” Herb continues. “You know, you’ve stood up for your friend, you’ve left the dumb sitcom, you’re maturing as an actor…and this time, we’d retain complete control. I don’t know, it’ll be tough to get a team together, of course. We’ll have to see if anyone else from _Horsin’ Around_ steps up. Start thinking about ideas. And get in touch with your agent, see what he’s got in the pipeline, there’s gotta be something….Bojack? You okay?”

Bojack quickly drains his second beer. “You know,” he says, “I’ve always wanted to play Secretariat.”

 

* * *

 

October 1993 - A

 

“Okay, party animals, time for an oldie but a goodie. Hey, good thing they didn’t make it ‘Do the Kazzaz,’ huh?” The DJ laughs and the beat of “Do the Bojack” comes thumping in. It always freaks her out to hear Bojack’s voice on the track. Charlotte sighs and swirls her drink around, leaning against the bar. Most of the crowd laughs and start to do the moves half-heartedly; it’s early and no one is quite drunk enough yet to get over their embarrassment.

But Charlotte notices one guy who doesn’t seem to have a bit of embarrassment. He’s out there in the middle of the dance floor, going wild – he makes the stupid moves actually look kind of like a good dance. Charlotte realizes she’s been staring at him for the whole song when he catches her eye and grins at her. When the song ends, he comes over to her immediately.

“Impressed with my moves?” he asks, grinning. He’s sweaty and his hair is messy from the dancing; it’s cute.

“Impressed? You’ve given me a whole new appreciation for the novelty song dance.”

“It’s a stupid song—stupid show too—but you might as well have fun, right?”

 _I know Bojack,_ she thinks about saying. _Or, knew him. Do the Kazzaz? Yeah, I_ did. _Ask me how that turned out._ She could pour the whole thing out. But she doesn’t. This guy seems nice. And—happy. She doesn’t want to ruin that.

Instead, she smiles and says, “Sure. Having fun is good.” She puts down her drink. “I’m Charlotte.”

“Nice to meet you, Charlotte. I’m Kyle.”

 

* * *

 

Headlines, September 1993-B – November 1994-B

 

KAZZAZ FIRED FROM _HORSIN’ AROUND,_ STAR HORSEMAN QUITS IN PROTEST

‘ALWAYS THOUGHT THERE WAS SOMETHING ODD ABOUT BOJACK’ SAYS ANON _HORSIN’ AROUND_ STAFFER

1/3 OF _HORSIN’ AROUND_ STAFF LEAVES IN SOLIDARITY W/ KAZZAZ

 _HORSIN’ AROUND_ TO BE REBOOTED AS _SABRINA’S RAD ADVENTURES_

KAZZAZ AND HORSEMAN ANNOUNCE SECRETARIAT BIOPIC

HOLLYWOOD INSIDERS: SECRETARIAT PIC DIGGING ‘BOTTOM OF BARREL’ FOR STAFF

TENSIONS REPORTED ON _SECRETARIAT_ SET

 _SECRETARIAT_ RELEASE DATE PUSHED BACK—AGAIN

KAZZAZ-TROPHE! _SECRETARIAT_ FALLS APART AMID ON-SET CHAOS

OP-ED: _SECRETARIAT_ MESS SHOWS RISKS OF WORKING WITH PERVERTS

KAZZAZ: UNSTABLE HORSEMAN CAUSED _SECRETARIAT_ FAILURE: ‘HE’LL NEVER WORK AGAIN’

 

* * *

 

December 1994 - B

 

Charlotte gets home and is greeted by the same darkened living room she left this morning. Same dirty dishes scattered on the counter. Same pile of _Horsin’ Around_ tapes spilling out of the cabinet in the living room. Same takeout containers on the couch. Same faint sounds of a laugh track from the bedroom.

He’s in there, she knows. In bed, still. Well, this is going to be the end of it. She’s given him plenty of time, and now things have to start changing. All he needs is some tough love.

She steels herself and opens the bedroom door. Sure enough, there he is. She stops herself from counting the number of empty liquor bottles in the room. “Good afternoon,” she says evenly. No response. Not knowing where to start, she shuts off the VCR.

“Hey!” Bojack complains. “That was a good one. Olivia was about to go out with Joey Saratoga for the first time. _Will he think she’s lame?”_ He rolls over and pulls another beer out of the sixpack conveniently placed on the nightstand. “Ah, whatever, I know how it ends anyway. He thinks she’s super cool until he spots the horse spying on them to make sure he doesn’t get too frisky at the laser show. _Then_ he thinks she’s lame.”

“Thrilling,” she says, opening the curtains. “My final went well, by the way, thanks for asking. Looks like I’ll pass Accounting 3.”

“Still can’t believe you’re getting a degree in business studies,” Bojack mutters. “You’re basically becoming The Man.”

“Okay, Bojack, I’m not gonna get in a fight with you right now, so don’t bother.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I just want to talk.” She sits on the bed next to him. “Look, Bojack, I know this is a hard time for you. I’ve given you two weeks to do whatever you want.”

“Studies show the initial mourning period can last up to six months.”

“Okay, you’re not in mourning.”

“I’m mourning the end of my career.”

She sighs, reaching across him and pulling out a beer for herself. “If anything, you’re mourning the end of your friendship with Herb, which I can understand, but—”

“ _Herb._ That double-crosser – Telling the papers about my quote-unquote drug problem, he was the one doing lines in between shots. So what if I was late a _few_ days, or maybe a little drunk on set a _couple_ times, after I put my neck out for him he should be _lucky_ to work with me. And what a bunch of amateurs on that set,” he continues, waving his beer around. “No wonder all the scenes we actually managed to get filmed were garbage. If that’s the best people I can get to work with me, honestly, fuck this business. Fuck it. And this town.”

And that’s her in. “Do you really feel like that, Bo?” She reaches out and starts scratching between his ears, just how he likes.

He finishes his beer and looks at her, leaning into her hand appreciatively. “Honestly, the more I think about it, the more I think so. But what if I do?”

“Well,” she says carefully. “You don’t have to stay here.”

He narrows his eyes at her but says nothing.

“I’ll be done with school in a few weeks. I can use my degree anywhere. And…maybe your future isn’t in Hollywood. So what?”

“I’ve wanted to be an actor since I was a kid,” Bojack protests.

“And you did it! You were an actor for years! Think of it this way: _Horsin’ Around_ made millions of people happy for years. What’s gonna top that? And this town really does turn on people.” _Who act like jackasses,_ she doesn’t add. “It could be a long, hard slog for you here.”

“I can slog,” he says.

“I know you can. But…think about what it’s like when you do. You get like this. You drink more, you’re mad at everyone all the time, you don’t want to do anything but sleep…frankly, I don’t think you’re very happy. That’s not the Bojack I fell in love with.”

Bojack looks down. “Sorry.”

She takes his hand. “You don’t have to apologize. But I think you should think about whether staying here and trying to make a career work would make you happy. I don’t think it would, and I know it wouldn’t for me. You can be happy, Bo. Millions of people are. And they don’t live in LA.”

Silence. That’s okay. She wasn’t expecting to convince him right away; if the idea just starts percolating, that’s a start.

“I know it’s a lot,” she says. “Just think about it.”

“So if we did leave,” he says, “Where would you want to go?”

 _Is that it? Was it that easy?_  She puts her empty bottle down on the nightstand.“I don’t know, I’ve always thought Maine would be beautiful.”

 

* * *

 

January - April 1995 - B

 

In retrospect, maybe moving to Maine in the middle of winter wasn’t the best idea.

They find a cute little winterized cottage in a small town by the coast, and it is lovely – there’s nothing as beautiful as the woods covered in a perfect layer of snow surrounding them, and there’s even a lake outside that they can ice skate on. They go sledding and have snowball fights and drink spiked hot chocolate, and some of the time it’s like something out of a storybook.

But it is _cold._ She can’t believe how cold it is, even compared to Tahoe winters. It’s the kind of cold that gets inside you and feels like it will never go away. It comes in through cracks in the cottage’s siding, even when the radiators are going full blast. It gets in between your sleeves and your gloves, your scarf and your hat, and it goes right through your pants and long underwear and boots. It makes the floorboards icy when you wake up in the morning and makes getting out of bed seem like an insane idea. It makes everything harder and farther away. When you get up and can’t feel your toes, there’s barely any hot water in the shower, and it takes twenty minutes to get the car to start, it’s hard to feel hopeful about the rest of the day.

The locals are cold, too. They all seem to be perplexed by the young Californians who show up out of nowhere. When Joan at the grocery store refers to Bojack as Charlotte’s husband, and Charlotte corrects her, she is too polite to say anything, but she’s not polite enough to hide her smirk. (Maybe they _should_ get married, Charlotte thinks, but neither of them really want to. They’re both not exactly eager to recreate marriage as they witnessed it growing up, and some part of Charlotte shies away from actually tying herself to Bojack for life. She tries not to think about it.)

The cold gets inside Bojack too. At first he’s much better – he gets into trawling the antique stores around town and bringing home weird little lamps or rugs. He shovels the walk after it snows, and helps her with dinner, and even does the dishes sometimes. If he maybe puts a lot more rum in his hot chocolate than is really warranted, she lets it go.

But after a couple months, when it’s March and they’re still freezing their tails off with no sign of spring, she can’t deny that signs of the old Bojack are returning. The drinking, the oversleeping, the belligerence. He’s still better than he was in LA, though, so she wonders if maybe this is just what her life is going to be.

She does need him to get a job, though. Between her job as a loan administrator at the bank, and the _Sabrina’s Rad Adventures_ royalties Bojack’s agent finally negotiated for them as a going-away present, they’re okay for a while, but still, she thinks it will be good for him to have something to do.

One morning in late April, when it seems like there might finally be signs of spring and Bojack is actually up in time for breakfast, she puts the newspaper down in front of him, innocently open to the classifieds section. She’s not going to circle it for him, though. He can find it himself.

“Look, Bo,” she says, pointing outside where there are a few buds on the trees. “Green things!”

“Well, what do you know.” He puts down his coffee. “I guess they actually do have that _seasons_ thing I’ve heard so much about.”

He returns to the newspaper, and she busies herself with her eggs, waiting. “Shit, look at this,” he says after a minute. “Short notice replacement drama teacher needed. Community college. I could teach drama!”

“Don’t you need a degree to teach college?”

“It’s _community_ college, Char. They don’t care. Plus, short notice replacement. They’re desperate. Can’t you see me, shaping young minds and all that?”

She smiles. “Uh-oh, I think I might need to call this poor college and warn them.”

He flicks some egg at her. “Yeah, okay, just for that, I’m gonna prove you wrong. I’m gonna go over there today, and they won’t know what hit them. North Cumberland Community College, get ready for Professor Bojack Horseman.”

_Bingo._

 

* * *

 

May 1998 - B

 

She finally tracks Bojack down in the back room, leaning against the wall by the bar. He’s not exactly surrounded by adoring fans.

“Congratulations, sweetie. Happy opening!” she says, kissing him on the cheek.

He kisses her back, then takes another swig of his drink. “Another opening, another show, another pile of crap.”

“Wow. You know, I enjoyed it.” (She didn’t – it was honestly pretty amateur – but she certainly isn’t going to admit that) “And all these people look like they’re enjoying themselves, too.” She gestures at the rather rowdy groups of college kids – Bojack’s cast and crew and their friends.

“Sure, _they’re_ enjoying themselves. They don’t even know how badly they’ve just raped _Our Town,_ they can’t even _fathom—_ I had a _vision,_ Thornton Wilder is rolling in his grave right now because of these imbeciles—”

His voice is getting embarrassingly loud, and she realizes with dismay that he’s drunker than she thought. “Okay, Bo,” she says, putting an arm around his waist. “People are around. You can at least be polite, after tonight you’re done with them.”

“I wish that was true,” he replies, though at least he’s back to a reasonable volume. “Half of them will probably be in my class next semester. Oh god, and I have to sit through this disaster four more times this weekend. God. Drink up.” He drains his glass (and what is that, straight whiskey?), slams it on the bar, and wobbles a little.

Charlotte is debating whether she can convince Bojack to leave without causing a scene when they’re interrupted by a tittering older woman. “Mr. Horseman?” she says. “I just wanted to congratulate you, I loved the play! And I want to tell you that I loved _Horsin’ Around,_ it really wasn’t right what they did to—”

“Who are you again?” Bojack cuts her off.

The woman laughs nervously. “Um, I’m Jessica’s mother? I organized the concession stand?”

“Oh, right. Well, I’m sorry about your daughter.”

“Sorry?”

“You know, that she’s a talentless hack who wouldn’t know subtext or character motivation if it bit her in the ass—”

“ _Okay,_ Bojack, I think we should be going,” Charlotte says, dragging him away. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, it’s been a very long week for him. I thought your daughter was wonderful.”

“Come on, Kubrick,” she says to Bojack as soon as they’re out of earshot. “Let’s get you home before you lose your job.”

 _“Fine,”_ Bojack says. “I wouldn’t want to stay at a party with these people anyway.” Then, even more desultory: “Can you drive?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I am _definitely_ driving. We’ll come back for your car tomorrow,” she says as he slumps into the passenger seat. She tries and fails to not slam the door.

Bojack stares out the window as she drives. “Remember when I was gonna be a world-famous actor?”

“Nope,” she says. “I don’t. I remember when you were happy, though.”

 

* * *

 

February 2000 - B

 

She holds the door open for Bojack as he slowly makes his way into the house (he has no real injuries besides the wrist, but he’s still sore and limping), wanting to slam it in his face the whole time. Then he thanks her, and she wants to run away and never have to do what she’s about to do. The worst part is how relatively normal Bojack’s been acting in the couple days since the accident. It’s like he knows he’s really fucked up this time and is trying to redeem himself. She reminds herself that he’s too far in the hole for it to make any difference. _There’s only one thing to do._

He settles himself on the couch and she says, “Okay, Bojack. I’m not gonna sugarcoat this. We need to talk.”

He sighs. “Oh God, here we go. I had one little accident, I’ll be fine—”

“Nope. A DUI is not a little accident. It’s very fucking serious. You could have been killed, or killed someone else.”

“The roads were icy,” he protests weakly. “It’s treacherous out there, their salting procedures really need a—”

“Yes, it’s February in Maine, I know that. I also know you were drunk off your ass. The fact that you got away with only a broken wrist is a damn miracle.” She sits down next to him. “Bo, do you know what it was like for me? To get a call that you were in the hospital? To have to talk to the goddamn cops about you? I was terrified. I can’t live like that.”

He doesn’t look at her. “So what are you saying?”

She takes the paper out of her bag and holds it out to him. “This is a list I typed up for you. They’re all good places, and they all take our insurance. Pick one. See if they can help you. In the meantime, I’m going to stay with Herb.”

That, of course, he finally reacts to. “ _Herb?_ Are you kidding?”

“I got back in touch, he was actually glad to hear from me. And he said he’d like to see you too, one day. So maybe that can be a motivation.”

He’s looking down, picking at his cast. “Can you imagine if I went, and it got out? ‘Washed-up sitcom star checks into rehab.’ The tabloids would have a field day.”

 _He’s embarrassed,_ she reminds herself. “Do you really care about that? Or do you care about me? Bo, I love you. I really do. And I want you to be okay. But I can’t do it myself.” She kisses him briefly, then stands up. “I’m leaving tonight. I know who you are. Maybe you can’t help yourself. But if you want to surprise me, now’s the time to do it.”

He sits there with the list in his good hand, staring at her. She can’t tell if anything she’s said has sunk in. When she feels herself about to cry, she walks away.

 

* * *

 

March 2000 - B

 

It takes a week or so for her to get used to Herb’s place. His house is about five times the size of their little cottage (Herb has done pretty well for himself, amazingly), and she’s forgotten how weird LA is in the winter. It’s wonderful to see Herb, though. He hasn’t really changed, and keeping up with his mile-a-minute promises and wisecracks makes her feel young again. (Again? She’s only thirty-three. But she’s old enough that LA feels like a lifetime ago.)

And he only drops a few snide comments about Bojack. They’re both waiting to see what he decides. She’s almost given up on ever hearing from Bojack again (and has barely started to figure out what she’ll do if that’s the case. Stay as long as you like, Herb insists, but. She just doesn’t know. _Keep moving forward,_ she thinks.).

Then the phone rings, in the middle of the day when Herb is out. She picks up, having no idea who to expect.

“Hello?”

“Greetings from New Horizons. Where every day is a new horizon. Jesus, who came up with that one?”

Her heart skips. She didn’t even realize she missed his voice. “Oh my God, Bo, you went?”

“I went. I enjoyed the bachelor lifestyle for a week, but then I was running out of cereal, and grocery shopping is pretty goddamn difficult when you have a cast and no driver’s license, so. I’m a regular twelve-stepper now.”

“I don’t believe it. Wow. I’m so proud of you. Um, how is it?”

He snorts. “What do you think? It’s goddamn awful. Everything is so trite and micro-managed, the food is repulsive, the other people are cretins, and I can’t even explain how badly I want a fucking drink.”

A pause, and her heart breaks a little because she knows how honest he just was.

“But, you know. I’m here.”

“Yeah. I know. Um, Herb says to tell you it’s much better to be in the tabloids for rehab than jail.”

He laughs. “Great, he can start planning my comeback. Speaking of comebacks, if I ever get out of here, what do you say I make an honest woman out of you?”

She laughs, almost not believing it. “If that’s your way of proposing…I have to say, I’ll consider it.”

“Aw, come on.”

“Maybe, Bo. I don’t know. There’s a lot for us to figure out. But maybe. Oh, and I wouldn’t change my name. I’m the breadwinner, after all.”

“Fair enough. We definitely don’t need more Horsemans in the world.”

She knows he’s not joking, but she laughs anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuletide! One thing that sticks out to me in this show are all the themes of choosing your own path, and whether changing one thing can make you happy, so I decided to explore those themes for Charlotte and Bojack. This kind of grew away from backstory/slice-of-life, but I hope you enjoyed it!


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